


My Love is a Weapon

by gayunsolved



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Jealous McCree, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, The one true kink: Jesse McCree’s accent, Unwanted attention, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayunsolved/pseuds/gayunsolved
Summary: When strangers try to make Hanzo Shimada their own, they don’t realize he comes with one hell of a shadow.





	My Love is a Weapon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GrumpyFlynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyFlynn/gifts).



> Hi, this is my first ever Overwatch fic, and it’s short and cliche as hell, but oh well. Hope you enjoy!   
> (Also I’m weak for Jesse’s accent so...yeah.) 
> 
> Title from Rat a Tat by Fall Out Boy.

Hanzo despised missions that put him in sleazy bars and clubs. He felt they were below his dignity, and moreover, he always felt a twinge of vulnerability in places full of men twice his size and twice his level of intoxication. This place was worse than normal, too, with incredibly dim lights and cheap drinks. To fit in as he kept an eye out for anything suggesting Talon interference, Hanzo sipped at a cheap whiskey, taking in the hazy atmosphere. The taste of whiskey carried a note of Jesse, and Hanzo let himself shiver ever so slightly. Jesse, who was to be gone for several more weeks on a mission he hadn’t explained. Drinking the smoky liquor just made Hanzo miss his cowboy, the way his lips always carried the hint of alcohol mixed with the bitter taste of tobacco. 

“What brings you here, little archer?”

Hanzo was brought from his thoughts by a tinny voice he didn’t recognize. He rolled his gaze up slowly, taking in the towering form of a stranger in dark metallic armour. The man did not slur his words, but his physicality suggested he had had more than a few drinks. He was loose limbed and open, leaning on the booth Hanzo inhabited. 

“Can I help you?” Hanzo answered, keeping his voice neutral. There was no need for confrontation. The man smiled a crooked smile, showing too many sharp teeth. With wide movements, he slid into the booth next to Hanzo, who instinctively shifted away. 

“Don’ move away from me. You look good enough to eat,” the man purred, his breath reeking of cheap, strong gin. “You free tonight, baby?” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have what you’re looking for,” Hanzo leveled. This was always what he feared coming into basement bars. Even though he was muscular and a powerful fighter, Hanzo carried himself in a peaceful manner that men took as a sign of submissiveness. This particular man, leaning in to take in Hanzo’s angular features, seemed to think this, because he wrapped an armoured arm around the archer, who tensed noticeably. 

“Don’t be shy, baby, let Sasha take care o’ you. I’ll treat you right, like you need,” the man, Sasha, apparently, slurred out. The alcohol seemed to be catching up to him, and he hiccuped as he nestled his face into the curve of Hanzo’s neck. Hanzo made to brush him off, but Sasha was faster. He pinned Hanzo’s hand to the table like a child catching a bug in a jar. His other hand snaked under the table to grab at Hanzo’s silk covered thigh. 

“If you’re going to be stubborn, I won’t hesitate to hurt you, little guy. I’ll make you good for me.” 

Hanzo swallowed down a biting insult. He didn’t want a fight, didn’t want to draw attention, but he felt undeniably trapped, unbearably close to a stranger with bad intentions. His blood was boiling, hot with rage and fear, and his heartbeat was erratic where the stranger pressed against his pulse point. Hanzo nearly yelped as Sasha brought the hand on his thigh to his crotch, feeling for hardness there. He squirmed away from the touch, but Sasha was forceful. He grasped harder, causing Hanzo to groan, turning his face into Sasha’s throat, hiding in shame. 

“‘Scuse me, fellas, don’ mean to intrude, but is this gen’leman botherin’ you?”

Hanzo nearly cried out at the sound of the familiar accent. Except—Jesse wasn’t due back for another month at least. It must have been another stranger, then, from Jesse’s part of the country, trying to get his hands on Hanzo, too. Sasha growled and pulled Hanzo’s body flush against his own before turning to face the man trying to deny him the piece of meat he had captured. Blocking the entrance of the booth, amber eyes narrowed and lip curled meanly, stood Jesse McCree. And he was absolutely infuriated. The lines of his face were hardened into a scowl and his accent soaked his gravelly syllables in anger. 

“Let go o’ him,” he growled. “Th’archer ain’t fuckin’ yours.”

“I got here first, cowboy.” Sasha spit the word out like a curse. “So step off.” 

“This piece of pie,” McCree said flatly, “belongs to me, and if you don’ back off now, this ain’ gonna be pretty.” 

Hanzo finally risked a glance at the man trading words with Sasha, and met the eyes of his lover. Immediately, relief flooded his body. But he was not safe yet, and knowing Jesse’s temper, a fight would break out before they left the bar. Sasha’s hands only grasped at Hanzo tighter, keeping him in his metallic embrace. 

“Let go,” McCree repeated, stepping closer. “Y’have two fuckin’ seconds to let go or I blow your brains out.” To prove his threat was serious, he put his flesh hand on his holster. Hanzo was still petrified in Sasha’s vice, but Jesse’s forceful tone brought a flush to his face.

“Fine, asshole, but if I see you again, I won’t back down.” 

“Then I sure as hell hope y’never see me ‘gain,” Jesse threw back. Sasha snarled at him but retracted his loose limbs from around Hanzo and stood, wobbling before righting himself and stalking off. Hanzo let out a gasp of breath he’d been keeping in during the altercation. Jesse grabbed his lover and pulled him forcefully out of the bar. When they hit the cool night air, Hanzo nearly began to cry. 

“Did he fuckin’ hurt you? I swear t’ god-“

“Why are you here?”

“Target died in an accident, so we were free t’come home. Sugar, answer me, are you hurt? Did ‘e touch you?” 

“He...” Hanzo attempted to regain his composure. “He put his hand on me. Wouldn’t stop.” 

“The fuckin’-“

“Jesse,” Hanzo whispered, burying his face in McCree’s shoulder. “Jesse, it’s okay. Please just take me back to base.” 

“Course, darlin’, but I hafta teach this man a lesson first.” 

“Jesse,” Hanzo repeated. 

“M’sorry, just gettin’ possessive, y’know how I am.” McCree held Hanzo to his body in a silent promise to keep him safe. “Let’s go home, sugar.” 

Hanzo stayed curled to McCree’s side as the two hurried back to their shared quarters. As they neared the barracks, Jesse drawled one last thing. 

“Don’ you ever forget that you’re mine, darlin’.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
